


always tired ( but never of you )

by dormant_bender



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anger Management, Angst with a Happy Ending, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Dialogue Heavy, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Post-Game(s), Self-Esteem Issues, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 01:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6591235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormant_bender/pseuds/dormant_bender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things never change, and Rafinha being annoyingly comforting is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always tired ( but never of you )

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so.
> 
> Now I'm a Terfinha and a Neyfinha shipper ?
> 
> Well then.

    Post-match tensions were rising high and the proof was in the reaction from one particular player, who just happened to be whom he was closest to on the team. Hushed hisses were exchanged back and forth with the problematic player: "you need to work on that," or even "don't let it get to you." Not that it seemed to have worked at all. 

    Rafinha had watched the scene unfold from the bench where he was un-lacing his shoes in favor of the ones he had worn to the stadium. These temper tantrums were more often than not and he had been there for nearly every one that occurred, it's just—not everyone was equipped with the knowledge of how to deal with them properly.

    Which is why he had followed the Brazilian back to his home even after the elder had murmured for him to "fuck off." Of course he had winced at that initially but knew it was just the anger speaking. Or so he could only assume. Either way: no offense was taken as he silently follows the male through the front door then behind him into the kitchen where he reaches instinctively for a wine glass along with the bottle itself.

    But before he could utter a word and instead of the latter pouring the alcohol in the glass, it's chucked nonchalantly across the room and the brunet has to duck to avoid being struck. "Ney, hey—What the hell are you doing? That could have hit me!"

    Neymar doesn't utter a word as he instead scrambles for another glass—to which he would probably toss too, what a waste. But this time he has the restraint to at least pour some wine into the glass, sipping at it lightly, before that one was slammed onto the counter top. "I told you not to come, Rafa, I wanted to be alone." 

    "Not even going to apologize? Ouch."

    One single finger pointed towards his general vicinity, and those hazel hues narrow slightly. "I told you, and you came anyway."

    Rafinha instinctively raises his hands in defense before him as he kicks the broken shards of glass into a neat pile near the counter. He doesn't speak for a decisive moment; instead he just stares at the usually complacent male who is snatching up the glass once more to take another few gulps, only pausing to refill the glass.

    Anger was not always easily dealt with, that much the brunet knew, but sometimes he thinks that the latter took things a little too seriously opposed to simply letting them go. No use in holding useless grudges; it wasn't like it would change things, that much he could only hope he would learn. But as of now? It was completely unbeknownst to him.

    "I came because you're a stubborn merdinha and when you say "I want to be alone," I know that you don't actually mean it. Drop the bravado, yeah? I actually know you, though the glass thing was a first."

    Neatly trimmed nails are gripping at the counter-top for purchase, highlighted head shifted downwards to stare at the crimson liquid pooled there. Neymar doesn't look up at all as the younger speaks, however, only chuckles humorlessly to himself with a shake of his head. "And you're annoying. Always here, you never leave. You stay here more than your own flat."

    Wince. Rafinha rubs anxiously at his upper arm at that, the sting of his words flooding his veins. "Like I would leave you alone when you think you have to take on the world with your tiny little arms and over-inflated head."

    "Go away, I mean it." He glances up then to point an accusing finger at the Brazilian, lips pursing firmly together. "Harass me some other time, I just want to be alone. You know where the door is."

    "You being a dick makes me want to leave but I'm not going anywhere, you know me. Almost as stubborn as you." With a few steps he's at the island in the center of the kitchen, leaning across the smooth surface on his elbows. There's a small, reassuring smile that spreads across his lips as he stares at the agitated male. "You want me to leave? You're gonna have to make me."

    "Usually I think it's cute when you do that—that thing where you're like a gnat and always buzzing around with all that bubbly positivity but right now? I'm not feeling it." Neymar murmurs sternly as he picks up the glass once more to drink the remainder of the crimson liquid sloshing around within it. He nods his head in the direction of the door, "Get out of my house, Rafael."

    Rafinha clicks his tongue in a scolding manner and shakes his head. "I'm not going anywhere, not when you need someone to be here with you." He states with a hard stare delivered to the Brazilian; hazel hues are widened and slightly glassy as he stares back, lower lip trembling slightly. "If you're going to do something stupid, I'm not letting you do it alone. Don't you get it?"

    A soft sound bubbles from his throat at that and he's hunching over the counter once more, crossing his arms across the surface, then burying his head in the small space in the center. Soft sobs wrack his slender form and he awkwardly waves one of his hands at the Brazilian on the opposing side, one last weak attempt at getting him to leave.

    But leave he doesn't, no. 

    Instead he scrambles to the other side of the counter to join the elder, wrapping his arms snugly around his slender shoulders, pressing the side of his face into his back. More sobs tear from his throat at that and he maneuvers an arm to thrust back against the Brazilian but to no avail. It's enough to have the male stumble back a half step but not enough to rid of him.

    "You always lose your cool, you hothead." Murmurs the younger as he shifts one of his hands to thread through the slightly damp hairs at the top of the latter's head, smoothing them neatly down, brushing back the tiny strands that cling to his forehead. "That's why I have to be here for you, to help you cool down."

    "Pare. Pare, por favor. Cale-se," breathes the elder in a pleading mantra, still attempting to push him away.

    "Está bem. Chorar apenas. Você precisa falar com alguém. Fale comigo?" Eventually the younger pins the elder's arms down with his elbows so he's temporarily immobilized, pressing more insistently against his back until he's trapped between Rafinha's body and the counter-top. "You're not going anywhere until you talk to me. What the hell is wrong with you?"

    Neymar presses his forehead against the cool counter-top, which somewhats soothes the heat burning within his head. He presses his hips back against Rafinha's weakly, well aware that he was trapped. "I'm f-fine, okay?" Words splutter from his lips as he shifts his face until his cheek is pressed into the counter, glancing over his shoulder at the younger. "Just let me go."

    "I can't do that." How many times would he have to speak those words before he understood that he meant them? "Tell me what's going on first then I'll leave, if you still want me to."

    Tense silence, one that creates a static-like electricity between them, lapses for nearly a minute until he responds. "I can't do this anymore."

    "What are you talking about?"

    A scoff. "The whole football thing—I just.. I can't." Another sob wracks through his form and this time Rafinha can visibly see the tears the trickle down the planes of his face, he winces. "We just keep losing and e-everyone—.. They say.. All these terrible things and I just—I can't, Rafa." Eyes flutter to clench shut as he finally breathes the words, the shuddering of his form momentarily halting. "The team says it's not my fault—any of our faults, but it's someone's. It is." Rafinha only shakes his head and opens his mouth to speak but Neymar scowls at him: "Maybe it's m-me? Maybe I-I've lost my touch or—or something, I can't even get a goal anymore."

    "That's not—who told you that?" Cue the bitter chuckle that spews from the pinned form beneath him. "No, I'm serious. Who said that?"

    Hazel hues are rimmed with red when he opens his eyes to peer up at the younger, "I-it's everywhere. Twitter, Instagram.. W-who isn't saying that? They say we're cursed, that I could do better. It's hard, Rafa. I-I know I'm not perfect and that I never will be, but I have to try, don't I? What's Barcelona without any titles?"

    "If you weren't so upset right now I would probably laugh. That's so ridiculous and even you know it. You're one of the best players I have ever met, even though I will always put Thiago above you." There's a faint twitch of his smile on Neymar's face at that but it's quickly replaced with a brooding frown. "Just an off game. Everyone's tired, putting themselves down. Our confidence is low, but we'll come back. And it'll be a strong comeback at that. All of us just need to get through this—whatever it is."

    "Do you really think we still have a chance at winning La Liga and Copa del Rey?"

    The look in those hazel hues are hopeful as he stares up at Rafinha, who loosens his hold on the elder. Chestnut hues stare back equally as intense but he isn't certain as to how to answer that question. Never did he ever lie to Neymar and he definitely didn't want to start that now. But he had faith in the team and their strengths, so he only offers a broad grin in response.

    "Is that even a question? Yeah, of course. We're the best, right? You said it yourself. We just have to play like we're the best. So stop being all whiny and sad, you idiot." One of his fists playful offers a punch to the latter's back as he takes a step away from the elder in favor of offering him a tiny bit of space.

    "I can't really take offense to that right now, I feel like an idiot." But there's a tiny sad smile on his lips nonetheless as he hesitantly pushes off the counter to face the younger. "It's hard to stay mad when I have you here though, princesa." This time he's shoved abruptly and he looks rather bewildered by it as he shoves the younger back: "You're really starting this after that master class pep talk you just gave?"

    "What are you going to do about it? Huh?" 

    Neymar narrows his gaze slightly as he's shoved once more until his back hits the hard counter edge, "I'll probably slap you."

    At that Rafinha bursts out in laughter even though the whole ordeal post-game wasn't funny at all. But if the broad grin that the Brazilian wears is anything to go by, he was at least somewhat out of his melancholy slump, and that was something for the time being. Neymar is still giggling childishly when he returns to crowd him against the counter once more, this time staring down at him, smirking slightly as he does so.

    But the giggling Brazilian barely takes notice to it as he wipes at the tears that bead at the corners of his eyes, though that's rapidly rectified when a pair of plump lips press tenderly against his own. Giggles fade into soft sighs as he kisses him back, tongue darting out to trace the outline of his lower lip, then swiping along the plump flesh.

    Rafinha attempts to withdraw but is chased by Neymar who eventually works his lips open with his own in favor of assaulting the inside of his mouth. His tongue is everywhere, caressing and stroking, and then he's sucking at Rafinha's lower lip abruptly and that reels a moan from the younger who works Neymar's thighs open with his hands so he falls perfectly in between them.

    This time Neymar tilts his head back to reluctantly withdraw from the kiss with a smug smirk tugging on his lips. He doesn't speak, however, and instead admires the dumbfounded look on Rafinha's face and the haziness that dwells within his chocolate hues as he stares pointedly at Neymar's reddened lips.

    "Damn, Neymar." 

    Once more the two fall into a fit of giggles as they lean onto each other for support.

    For once in the last few weeks, Neymar genuinely believes that everything would be okay.

    But even if they weren't, he would always have an annoyingly persistent Rafinha here to harass him back to happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say ?
> 
> Ney and Rafa have the cutest friendship ;)


End file.
